


The Proxy for the House of Wordsworth

by sunstarunicorn



Series: Magical Flashpoint Side Stories [13]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Unexpected Choices, reveal aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Having inherited all the rights of the former House of Lestrange, the House of Wordsworth now has a vote in Britain’s Wizengamot.  But, since Squibs can’t be on the Wizengamot, they need a proxy.  And a scheming Alanna has quite the devious idea.  A Magical Flashpoint Side Story





	1. Aftermath of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Magical Flashpoint Side Story series. Chapter One follows "Magical Heritage" and the rest follows "Be Strong and Very Courageous" and comes before "Blessings". This story follows up on events in "Magical Heritage".
> 
> Yes, I left a few things dangling in "Magical Heritage". That story was about Claire's magical heritage and the immediate ramifications thereof, not about how events in Toronto would or would not affect events in England. This is my attempt to A) tie up some loose ends and B) finally get the humor my muse denied me in "Magical Heritage".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

Between being overwhelmed with information, the exhaustion and nasty headache that came after the ritual to change his family name, and needing to get the girls home before they got cranky – the last turned out to be a lost cause – Wordy wrapped up the meeting with his new account manager right after setting up the investments.

Later that night, it hit him all over again that his very existence was due to something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, much less his own mother. Shelley had her hands full keeping her husband from falling apart over the following nights and days that it took for the gentle man to wrap his head around the facts.

Even worse was the fact that he couldn’t tell his parents; they’d been, at best, _Obliviated_ and wouldn’t know what on Earth he was talking about. Thankfully, Alanna quietly pointed out to Shelley that grandparents were a bit of gray area where the Statute of Secrecy was concerned. As long as the grandparents kept the secret, the Ministry would look the other way. So Shelley made arrangements – behind her husband’s back – to invite her in-laws for a family dinner.

* * * * *

Claire, Lilly, and Allie might have spilled the beans within five minutes if their mother hadn’t sternly warned them against telling until _after_ dinner. So, instead, they tumbled into their grandparents’ arms as if nothing had changed, chattering away about their days and their toys and a dozen other inconsequential topics. Claire, in particular, was much exclaimed over; though her kidnapping had been solved within two days, it had frightened her grandparents just as much as her parents.

Dinner was just as pleasant as Shelley had hoped, with her husband managing to bury his issues and talk with his folks as if Claire’s inheritance test had never happened and the girls excitedly demanding the lion’s share of attention with yet more topics they hadn’t already covered before dinner. Lilly even jumped up from the table to retrieve her latest piece of artwork – done that very day in her class – to show her admiring grandmother.

* * * * *

Wordy – after Shelley told him his parents were coming to dinner – had prepped for the dinner as if it was a tactical operation. He was determined not to betray any _hint_ of what he’d discovered to his parents, but also determined to give them the best possible view of his daughters’ new world. The girls hadn’t had a lick of magical training yet, but he talked Sam and Spike into showing him a few tricks with their magical phones that he could use to show his folks that magic was real. If worst came to worst, he could deliberately break the phone and let them see it get put back together.

So, after dinner the family assembled in the living room, three excited and bouncing little girls in one area and the adults spread out on the chairs and couch. Wordy’s mother, picking up on her granddaughters’ higher than normal excitement, arched an eyebrow at her son. “The last time I saw the girls so excited, we had another little one on the way,” she observed. “Are congratulations in order?”

Shelley smiled at her husband’s embarrassment, but shook her head. “No, no more little ones…that we know of, anyway.”

Wordy leaned forward, allowing a bit of a smile to show. “Actually, it has to do with where the girls will be going once they turn eleven. It’s a bit of…a different kind of school.” At his parents’ expectant looks, he admitted, “They’ll be going to the Toronto School of Magic…they’re all magical.”

Shelley lifted both hands before her in-laws could react incredulously. “It’s true; magic exists and we’ve known about it for a couple of years. We found out Claire had magic when she was kidnapped and a…” she hesitated, not wanting to ‘out’ her adopted niece and nephew, “…a friend of the family confirmed Lilly and Allie have magic too.”

Claire, though, had no such compunctions. Bouncing forward, she declared eagerly, “Alanna told us; she’s like Amanda and she can turn into a _bird_! Her brother can turn into a cat-eagle! I want to learn how to do that!” Claire beamed as her father dropped his head into his hands in the background. There went the organized approach.

He cleared his throat as his parents opened their mouths to – gently – dispute their granddaughter’s claim. “Alanna and her brother are my boss’s niece and nephew…they moved here almost three years ago when their parents died. They’re the ones who introduced my team to magic…we’ve been working in both worlds ever since.” He placed his phone on the table as he spoke and triggered a program that had taken him most of the previous few days to set up with Spike and Sam’s help. The phone glowed a moment, then a three dimensional map appeared above the device, rapidly growing upwards until Wordy’s neighborhood appeared on the table in miniature. Each house, every lawn, even all the cars were represented in perfect detail, right down to a few bald patches on the neighbor’s lawn down the street.

“My goodness,” Wordy’s mother breathed, her hands up to her mouth as she took in the sight. “And that…device…is magical?”

Wordy’s grin lit the room. “Half and half, actually. It’s a smartphone that’s been modified to run on magic and it can work with, say, a magical map to give us more information. But otherwise, it works just like any other smartphone. I can even charge it like a regular smartphone.”

His father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Does it break like a regular smartphone?” he asked shrewdly.

In answer, Wordy picked up the phone, dissipating the magical map, and dropped it on the floor; the screen cracked, spiderwebbing as it hit. The constable scooped the phone back up and turned it so both his parents and his daughters could watch as the cracks knit themselves back together, glowing a little before fading entirely. Quietly, firmly, Wordy capped the explanation with, “Until now, we really didn’t have any reason to tell you; magic’s supposed to be kept secret. But, since the girls are magical, we can tell you ‘cause you’re family.” Turning his attention to Claire, he remarked, “You can tell your grandparents all about your adventure now,” and winked at her.

* * * * *

Andrea Wordsworth knew something was bothering her son; he’d hidden it well, but she knew him far too well for him to hide the shadows in his eyes for long. Not to mention, her son never retreated – fled – as he had tonight. So, with her husband sufficiently distracted talking to Shelley and their granddaughters, she sought her son out. She found him in the family garage, tinkering with a home improvement project of some sort.

“Kevin?”

His flinch was suppressed, but she saw it. And the ache in his eyes that he struggled to hide…it reminded her of the few times he’d been teased, quite badly, in school. “Hey, Mom,” he greeted her, managing to sound almost normal.

But she wasn’t fooled, not in the slightest, and studied her son for several moments. When he started shifting uncomfortably, she asked, “What’s wrong, Kevin?”

He opened his mouth to lie, then closed it again with a rueful look at her. “Never could hide stuff from you.”

“That’s what mothers are for, son,” Andrea replied with a smile. Moving closer, she laid a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Kevin, you can tell me.”

This time, she waited as he regarded her, his gaze turning inwards as he considered what to say. It took some minutes, but he finally told her about taking Claire to get an inheritance test at the magical bank, about Shelley’s family and the fact that he, too, had magical relatives. At first, he didn’t tell her who _his_ magical relatives were, skipping over that part as he told her a bit about his boss’s kids.

But mothers know, they always know, and she wouldn’t let her son get away with holding something back, with bearing whatever burden he had alone. “Kevin? Tell me about our side of the family,” she requested and watched his face crumple in dismay.

It took him far too long to reply and when he did, he sounded as if he was talking past his tears, past a lump in his throat. “Not… _our_ family, Mom…not exactly.” A deep breath. “You and Dad went to England before I was born?”

They had…Andrea’s brows rose at her son’s question. “Yes, of course…it was a gift to ourselves; one last hurrah before we settled down and had children.” And then she figured it out…realized what he’d discovered and pulled her oldest son down into a hug. “Kevin, stop this,” she chided. “I already knew.”

Against her chest, he gasped, shocked. “You…know?”

It was Andrea’s turn to look away, but her son deserved the truth. “At first, no, of course I didn’t…neither did your father…but then, one year, you had that fall on the sports field…you remember that, I’m sure.” He nodded; he’d straightened enough to look her in the eye again. “You didn’t match either one of us for blood type. At first, your father was very hurt, but by then, I’d found your birth certificate and I brought it to him. We looked at your date of birth and counted back nine months; it made no sense to either of us.”

Her son nodded again, the pain in his eyes even more pronounced.

“At last we tracked down the most likely day for anything to have happened. It was in London, near a place called Charing Cross Road. That road has quite a few bookshops and you know how I love my books,” her son managed a tiny grin, “We’d visited several bookshops and I’d picked up a number of new books, but, around mid-afternoon, my memory and your father’s memory just…went blank. Your father was still rather angry with me, but we both agreed on the approximate time when neither of us could remember the rest of the day.”

“Did Dad…forgive you?” Kevin questioned, still looking as if he wanted to crawl in the nearest hole and hide.

Andrea considered her son, then answered, “It took time to get back to where we had been before your fall, but I think it was helped along by the fact that neither one of us could figure out _what_ had happened or _how_. I was even more upset than your father; it was devastating to think that something _I_ had done had shattered his trust in me. In time, we rebuilt our relationship and it was stronger for the trial we’d gone through. But, believe me, Kevin, we _never_ blamed you for a _thing_ and _I_ don’t regret _you_ for an instant.” She ran a finger down his nose, smiling at him as he automatically rubbed at his nose afterwards. “Now, my brave son, can you tell me what happened all those years ago?”

She held him as he explained, as he told her what had happened, about his blood father and his half-brothers in England. Andrea was indignant when Kevin admitted he _could_ have been a wizard if not for one last parting ‘gift’ from his ‘father’. But when she asked if the damage could be repaired, he blinked at her in surprise.

“Why would I want that?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

Mistaking his meaning, Andrea gave her son a stern look. “If you’re rejecting your heritage because…” she stopped as her son motioned for her to stop.

“Let’s say, what if, hey, presto, my magical core gets fixed and I can do magic…what would I _do_ with it? I don’t have any training in that stuff, I don’t know how magic works or how I’d use it for my job day-to-day. The girls are going to go to school for seven years and that’s just what almost any witch or wizard learns…after that they have to train for their job, whatever that will be.”

_Now_ she understood. “You would have to relearn your trade,” she concluded, getting a nod from him. “And you would have to learn how to live on the magical side of life.” Another nod. Still, she studied him. “It’s not like you to back down from a challenge, Kevin.”

Kevin dropped his gaze and scrubbed at the floor with one toe of his boots. “Alanna said, and I have no reason to doubt her, that damage like that is one of the things magic can’t fix. If it were possible, _maybe_ I’d go for it, see what I can do, but it’s not. On the other hand, ‘Lanna _also_ pointed out that the magical world can’t hide like it has been much longer…another five, ten years and it’s going to be impossible to hide from our technology. So, she and her brother have been plotting for the day when magic can’t hide anymore; the phone I showed you? That’s the sort of thing they’ve been cooking up with Sarge and their account manager.”

The older woman wasn’t as familiar with technology as her son, but she understood, quite well, what point her son was making. “You and your daughters…you’re going to build our future, aren’t you?”

He flushed, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re gonna try,” he agreed.

He looked up as his mother rested her hand on his arm, smiling proudly at him. “You’ll do it; I know you will.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Andrea’s smile grew at her son’s words. Regardless of anything else, she _didn’t_ regret a thing…not where her children and grandchildren were concerned. Family is, after all, family.


	2. A Problem, A History, and An Idea

By unspoken agreement, the team ended up crashing at either the Wordsworths or the Lanes after they got back from England. Sam was still suffering the aftermath of the Old Religion spell that had locked him into a world that never existed while Spike dealt with the oh-so-fun – _not_ – effects of the Cruciatus. The pair, along with a certain set of teenagers, ended up staying with Wordy while Ed found spots for Jules, Lou, and Sarge at his place…and updated Sophie on the _latest_ set of misadventures.

Sam and Spike got the guestroom, Sam getting the bed and Spike the air mattress Shelley dug out of hiding. She’d bought it a day or so after Wordy’s own brush with the torture spell, determined that if it happened again, Wordy wouldn’t aggravate the issue by sleeping on the floor. The teens would bunk in the living room, but neither looked unhappy with the arrangement. Actually, they both had gleams in their eyes that gave Wordy a shiver of nervous anticipation for what they could be up to _this_ time.

Once both former captives had been tucked in bed, along with the three little girls, Wordy came out to the living room and dispensed with the song and dance with one raised and rather pointed eyebrow. Lance cocked his head a moment, then pushed himself up and arrowed to his backpack, pulling a notebook out. “ ‘Lanna told me,” he announced, “About everything.” The teen gave Wordy an apologetic look, but had the sense not to verbally apologize. “And, um, I know you got a bunch of stuff set up, but there’s one, really big thing that got overlooked.”

“And it has to be dealt with now?” Wordy queried a bit testily.

“Well…” Lance fidgeted, playing with the notebook. “Ordinarily, I’d say ‘no, we can put this off’, but Harry mentioned something to me before we came back. The next Wizengamot meeting is in a week and a half and there’s some new legislation the ‘Dark’ contingent is trying to push through. It’s more…economic…then some of the things they pushed between the First and Second Wars, but the legislation is targeting any companies that want to try what we’re doing.”

Wordy sighed, shifting to lean against the wall as he concluded, “They’re targeting companies that want to mix magic and technology.” At the twin nods, he asked, “And I have a say in this why?”

Lance bit his lip, then just blurted it out, “Your family has a seat on the Wizengamot…an Azkaban sentence doesn’t negate that seat, only line extinction does. You _are_ the family Head, but since you’re a Squib, you can’t take the seat yourself.” The boy grimaced, but Wordy just waved him on. “So right now, the seat is still being proxied by the Head of House Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy…ex-Death Eater.”

Wordy’s eyes widened at that, but he was also puzzled. “An ex-Death Eater can still be on the Wizengamot?”

Solemn nods. “He defected,” Lance said quietly, “Turned on Voldemort to protect his family, but that doesn’t mean he changed his mind about the pureblood agenda. He still believes that purebloods are better than anyone else and as long as he holds the proxy, he has _two_ votes he can use to push his agenda.”

A thoughtful frown. “Why wasn’t that withdrawn when I took over?”

The two siblings exchanged startled looks, then Lance shrugged. “Maybe because it was so unusual, maybe you have to change proxies formally either way; I honestly don’t know.”

Fair enough. “So,” Wordy mused, summing things up, “My family seat needs a proxy, I can’t take the seat myself, and we need to pick one fast ‘cause of the legislation coming up.”

“Pretty much,” Lance agreed.

“Pretty much,” Alanna echoed.

“Okay,” Wordy decided, pushing himself upright again, “I suppose you two already have an idea or two? By the way, who’s _your_ family proxy?”

Alanna answered the second question. “Lord Potter; that’s who our Dad designated as proxy in his will. Even after he lost the whole guardianship mess, Uncle Greg decided to let him keep the proxy ‘cause that’s how Dad wanted it.”

Wordy grimaced, not particularly wanting the rather high-handed Auror as his family’s representative. The kids read his look, but waited for him to speak. “All right…any other options?”

The two teenagers gave their adopted uncle a look of sheer mischief. Lance tilted his head towards his sister, letting her take the lead. “Yes, but, well, it might take some explaining first.”

Taking the hint, Wordy dropped down on the couch, making himself comfortable. Shelley, who’d been listening from behind her husband, slipped in and settled herself next to him. Once both adults were settled, Alanna took center stage, the look in her eyes both mischievous and sad. “You already know about the First Wizarding War,” she began, “and how it ended on Halloween of 1981…”

“Why Halloween?” Shelley asked.

Her husband answered for the kids, “From what Madame Locksley told us, that was the night the bad guys’ leader, Voldemort, attacked the Potters and ended up half-dead for the next decade or so.” He didn’t elaborate and the two teens acknowledged the silent warning in his eyes.

When Shelley nodded understanding, Alanna continued, “After the Potters died and Voldemort was defeated, the entire Wizarding World celebrated…for days on end. That’s how bad the war had gotten by that point.

“But some of Voldemort’s followers were determined to find out what had happened to their master. The three Lestranges and Barty Crouch Jr. decided that the Longbottoms would be their best chance to get information. At the time, the Longbottoms were prominent Aurors and closely linked to a group called the Order of the Phoenix. The Order was basically a vigilante group formed to fight against the Death Eaters.”

Alanna grimaced, but relayed the next part as faithfully as she could. “A few days after Halloween, the Longbottoms were attacked in their home by the four Death Eaters. Their son, Neville, wasn’t touched, but they were tortured into insanity; that’s what the Lestranges and Crouch Jr. were sentenced to Azkaban for.” Shelley and Wordy paled, but Alanna wasn’t done. “To this day, the Longbottoms are still in St. Mungo’s Hospital…they’ve never recovered.”

Wordy had gone as pale as a ghost, horrified by what his half-brothers and half-sister-in-law had done; Shelley wrapped herself around her trembling husband. “And how does all of that relate to now?” Wordy got out through stiff lips.

Alanna’s smile was wide and rather vicious. “Well, I think – and Lance agrees – the best way to show the Wizengamot that you’re _nothing_ like them is to choose Neville Longbottom, Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom, as the proxy for the House of Wordsworth, formerly the House of Lestrange.”

If Wordy’s answering grin was just as vicious, well…the idea _did_ appeal to the prankster in him. And he figured it was about time a few wizards in Britain got knocked off their high horses. This might even be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm borrowing quite a bit from Sherza and I hope, if he ever reads my stories, that he doesn't mind. To a great extent, the canon books are the foundation of the Harry Potter side of the Magical Flashpoint 'verse.
> 
> That said, I'm a very longtime fandom reader of Harry Potter fanfics of all shapes and sizes; I tend to add fandom stuff without even thinking about it at this point. House Longbottom's status as Ancient and Noble comes from Sherza's "Families and Familiars". The _former_ House of Lestrange's status is, by and large, limited to their Wizengamot seat. No family magic or anything like that. Part of that is the books (the Lestranges are one of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' pureblood families) and the other part is from a Harry Potter story called "A Marauder's Plan" by CatsAreCool here on this site. Specifically, at one point, Lucius Malfoy refers to the Lestrange seat returning to the floor because of 'line extinction'.


	3. Meeting Lord Longbottom

Neville Longbottom was enjoying breakfast prior to the start of another school day when the owl landed in front of him, carrying a letter with the crest of Gringotts. Curious, he took the letter, tossing the owl a few bits of bacon as he nipped the seal open to reveal the letter within.

_“Lord Neville Longbottom,_

_At the behest of my client, the new Head of the House of Wordsworth, I hereby extend an invitation to discuss the seat of the House of Wordsworth on the British Wizengamot. My client and his immediate family are disinclined to move to Britain at present and feel that your views and political position are more in line with their own than the current proxy holder; therefore they wish to discuss the current status of their proxy and if they wish to withdraw it from its present holder._

_As this month’s Wizengamot meeting is scheduled for Wednesday next, my client looks forward to your response._

_Yours in Business,_

_Blackroot, Account Manager for the House of Wordsworth, formerly the House of Lestrange”_

Neville drew back with a soft hiss at the sight of the name ‘Lestrange’. He wanted _nothing_ to do with that family again, _ever_. The idea that any Lestrange would be different from the callous, hateful Death Eaters he’d encountered was absurd. The Herbology Professor’s eyes narrowed and he resisted the urge to toss the letter into the candle right next to him. Instead, he decided to take the letter to his friend, Harry, and get _his_ take on the mystery letter.

* * * * *

“ _Wordsworth?!_ ” Harry demanded, snatching the letter from Neville.

Neville watched, startled, as Harry examined the parchment, muttering something about Muggles and please men and annoying Canadians. After a few minutes, Harry put the parchment down and rummaged in his desk. He pulled a sheaf of parchment out, flicking through it, finally stopping at one particular spot. An emerald gaze pinned Neville and Harry nodded to the chair in front of his desk. Neville sat, both brows going up at Harry’s resigned expression.

“Look, Nev, I can’t tell you what to do or what I know…it falls under my Auror oath, but I think you should go and meet with him.”

“He’s a Lestrange,” Neville retorted, indignant.

“According to that letter you got, he’s a Wordsworth,” came the mild reply as Harry sat back in his own chair. “If he’s the same Wordsworth _I_ know of, he may just surprise you… _if_ you go.” Amusement danced in emerald eyes. “Just don’t do what I did and judge him based on his background.”

Neville seethed, upset that his friend would advise him to go and _meet_ with a member of the same family that had destroyed his. But Harry had been Neville’s friend for years, had helped Neville become the man he was and Neville’s trust and loyalty in his friend was enough to overcome his instinct to avoid the Lestranges.

* * * * *

Blackroot was not best pleased when Lord Longbottom appeared in his office, demanding an immediate meeting with the new Lord Wordsworth. However, well aware that his client had much to prove, the goblin refrained from snapping at the unhappy wizard. Instead, he drew a magical smartphone from his desk and sent a pre-arranged message. The message, while not specific, would alert his client to the need for a meeting. The return message made Blackroot grunt in amusement.

“Lord Wordsworth will arrive as soon as he can, Lord Longbottom,” Blackroot announced. “He is presently engaged, but anticipates that the…engagement…will end soon.”

Lord Longbottom scowled heavily, but took the seat Blackroot offered him. The wizard sat stiffly, his eyes narrow and angry; Blackroot refrained from speaking to the wizard, instead returning to the paperwork he’d been forced to abandon when the seething Lord arrived.

For close to an hour, the room was silent, save for the _skritch_ of Blackroot’s quill as he worked. At last, a buzz from Blackroot’s phone broke the silence. Blackroot scooped up the phone without looking away from his parchmentwork and thumbed the power button to inspect the message. A pleased expression spread over the goblin’s face and he quickly tidied away the parchmentwork; the better to enjoy the coming show.

“He’s coming?” Lord Longbottom inquired, straightening in his seat.

Rather than respond, Blackroot merely smirked and settled back.

Before Lord Longbottom could ask again, Wordsworth breezed in, wearing his SRU uniform, complete with equipment vest and a very visible sidearm. “Sorry,” he said as soon as the door closed behind him, “right after I texted back, the subject tried to get the drop on Jules and it got a little hairy. I’ve got some time now, though; Ed’s gonna give me a ride back to the barn, but I think he’s dying of curiosity after your text today.”

Lord Longbottom’s jaw dropped open and he stared at the new arrival as if Wordsworth was one of those fictional Muggle aliens and he was speaking in an equally alien tongue. Wordsworth glanced around the office, loosening his vest as he took in the fact that he wasn’t the only human occupant of the room. One brow shot up and the Auror cleared his throat and belatedly attempted to look more professional then his rather disheveled appearance allowed.

“So, um, you must be Lord Longbottom,” Wordsworth remarked, removing his equipment vest entirely, though that merely revealed the bullet-proof vest beneath. With a tiny sigh, Wordsworth dumped the equipment vest in the nearest chair and turned back, offering Lord Longbottom his hand to shake. “I’m Kevin Wordsworth; nice to meet you.”

Blackroot stifled his snigger. Lord Longbottom’s attire and bearing screamed of old blood, old money; his robes were of the highest quality and his appearance perfect despite the Portkeys he’d used to get from Britain to Toronto. Wordsworth’s attire and bearing, on the other hand, screamed of being a Muggle police officer who was accustomed to dealing with business when he could, usually wearing a work-stained uniform and his customary tools of the trade. The two could not have been more different if they’d tried.

Still completely flummoxed and caught off guard by Wordsworth’s clearly Muggle roots, Lord Longbottom needed a moment or two before he warily extended his hand and shook Wordsworth’s. “Yes, I’m Lord Longbottom, Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom,” he confirmed politely, examining Wordsworth from head to toe. “I received your letter this morning; it was most…unexpected.”

Both Blackroot and Wordsworth could tell that the letter had been more unwelcome than unexpected, but neither called Lord Longbottom on his choice of words. Instead, Wordsworth gave the other man a quick nod and pulled his bullet-proof vest off, dumping it on top of his equipment vest. “Well, like it said in the letter, my family’s looking for a new proxy for our Wizengamot vote…I hear there’s a piece of legislation coming up in the next meeting that’s rather…anti-technology; definitely don’t want _my_ vote going to help that sort of thing.”

Muggle clothing and bearing notwithstanding, Lord Longbottom’s assumptions were largely unchanged, prompting his sharp, “Why not?” Unspoken, but understood was his clear belief that, as a _Lestrange_ , Wordsworth was anti-Muggle at best.

Rather than take offense, Wordsworth dug out his magical smartphone and flipped it to Lord Longbottom; Lord Longbottom almost fumbled the catch, but managed to keep hold of the device. “A lot of reasons, actually, but you’re holding one of ‘em. I’m part of a law enforcement unit that works both magic and tech side hot calls; that phone can work magic-side no problem, unlike most technology. There’s a company working on more stuff like that, but if development is outlawed in Britain, there goes a pretty big potential market.”

“Economics?” Lord Longbottom questioned. “You’re opposed strictly on economic terms?”

“The bill up for a vote, it’s economic, right?” Wordsworth waited for the grudging nod. “So, yeah, I guess you could say that I oppose it on its own terms,” a brief smirk, “But if something like that passes, where does it stop? From what I know of history, it usually _doesn’t_ stop at something ‘small’, it keeps going until you get something like the Third Wizarding War and, quite frankly, _that_ would blow the magical world’s secrecy out of the water; the Statute of Secrecy’s barely holding on right now as it is.”

Blackroot had, during the discussion, quietly retrieved a flask of water for the obviously – to him anyway – exhausted Wordsworth and offered it to the man as Lord Longbottom gaped at the casual dismissal of the Statute of Secrecy. Wordsworth gulped down half the flask, looking relieved at the chance to catch his breath and drink some water, though he kept an eye on Lord Longbottom.

“The Statute of Secrecy has stood for centuries,” Lord Longbottom retorted.

Wordsworth shook his head at the other man. “Sure, but these days, the ‘Muggles’ have a lot more technology than they had before. How the heck do you hide the magical world from, oh, say, a security cam?”

“A what?”

Wordsworth cocked his head to the side. “About a week ago, a teammate of mine got kidnapped by his old unit; he was snatched right out of the atrium of his apartment building. Now, lucky for the magical world, none of his kidnappers used magic in front of the security cam, _but_ one of them was a Shade…” When Lord Longbottom stared, Wordsworth trailed off, arching a brow.

Blackroot cleared his throat, pulling a folder from his drawer. “Allow me, Lord Wordsworth.” With that, the goblin pulled out the images from the security camera in question, letting Lord Longbottom get a good look at the Shade. “These images were captured by Muggle technology and improved by Muggle professionals who worked for quite some time to salvage the badly degraded original image in hopes of aiding a fellow member of law enforcement.”

The goblin waited until Lord Longbottom had looked over the images to add, “Since the device that recorded this image was actually stored elsewhere in the building, no magical techniques that I know of would have prevented the device from recording magic use, had there been any.”

“And just like that, there goes the Statute of Secrecy,” Wordsworth concluded rather cheerfully. “Two kids I know think the magical world has, at best, ten years before hiding is impossible.”

“And yet you aren’t worried,” Lord Longbottom remarked acidly.

Wordsworth arched a brow, studying his guest for a moment. “Wow…I thought you’d have figured it out by now…” He shrugged, then shifted so Lord Longbottom could get a good look at him. “Ignore the whole ‘Head of House’ thing and take a good look, Lord Longbottom. What am I?”

Confused, Lord Neville Longbottom studied the other man, taking his time. His eyes rested on the Muggle attire, the Muggle equipment, even the Muggle sidearm. Slowly, the wizard paled, second by second. In a near whisper, he concluded, “You’re a Squib.”

Wordsworth nodded, though his cheerfulness had faded into grim seriousness. “Yep…thanks to a parting ‘gift’ from my so-called ‘father’ to my Mom…she and Dad didn’t even know he wasn’t my father until I was in high school.” A deadly look entered Wordsworth’s eyes. “As far as _I’m_ concerned, the name ‘Lestrange’ can die a miserable, lonely death…and I can think of no _better_ way to _prove_ I’m _nothing_ like my half-brothers then to make the son of their victims the new proxy for the House of Wordsworth. And if I can spit in their eyes and build a future they’d absolutely _hate_ , well…that’s just gravy.”

Lord Longbottom rocked back on his heels, regarding both the brunet and the Muggle device in his hands. He considered, but, really, it was, for all the emotional baggage, an easy choice. “You know,” he mused, “I think we can work something out, Lord Wordsworth.”


	4. The Best Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated between borrowing Sherza’s Wizengamot interpretation or CatsAreCool’s Wizengamot interpretation. I finally decided that I’ve borrowed enough from Sherza over the course of this series and I should go with CatsAreCool’s equally cool vision of the Wizengamot. I’ll also be borrowing CatsAreCool’s OC clerk…pretty sure I can’t top the name she came up with for him. However, credit to Sherza for the post-Dumbledore Chief Warlock.

Harry was waiting at the International Portkey Department when Neville returned from his trip. Both men strode away from the department without a word, reaching Harry’s office in minutes. Once inside, Harry retrieved a bottle of Firewhiskey and offered it to Neville; Neville took it and the glass Harry’d levitated over, pouring a generous amount before throwing it back in one gulp. Harry took the Firewhiskey back and poured a glass for himself, though he swirled it while waiting for Neville to sit down; the emerald-eyed wizard settled himself in the comfortable chair behind his desk as his friend paced back and forth.

When it became apparent that Neville wasn’t going to sit down any time soon, Harry asked, “Well?”

Neville huffed, finally dropping into his own chair. “You knew he was a Squib,” he accused, running a hand through his hair.

“Actually, until you brought that letter in, I thought he was a Muggle. Two of his teammates are Squib-born, but most of them are out and out Muggles,” Harry replied. “But Wordsworth’s not exactly the most common surname; somehow, I didn’t think it was an accident that I just _happened_ to mention the upcoming Wizengamot legislation to Lancelot Calvin and then, all of a sudden, you got that letter from someone named ‘Wordsworth’.”

Neville grunted, not entirely appeased, but he was starting to calm down. “Did they really fight a Shade?” he questioned, eyeing his empty glass.

Harry shifted, but, since Neville already knew some of it, he replied, “Yes, they did. Did one heck of a lot better than most of my Aurors would have too. Then again, two of their teammates were on the line at that point; there’s a rumor drifting around that the _last_ time a teammate of theirs was at risk, they actually stormed the Netherworld to get him back.” Neville’s jaw dropped, but Harry just shrugged. “Probably not true even if it makes a good story.” Silence hung between them for a heartbeat. “What do you intend to do?”

Neville’s jaw firmed. “I’m going to do it,” he announced. “I want to see the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face when one of his ‘sure votes’ disappears right out from under him. And we _have_ to make sure that bill doesn’t pass, Harry…I just got an object lesson in why our world can’t hide much longer.”

* * * * *

Neville swallowed a bit as he sat in his seat in the Wizengamot chambers. As Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom, he could stay in his family seat until called by the Wizengamot clerk. Truthfully, now that he was about to go through with this, he was having second thoughts, but there was no going back now. Part of him wanted to laugh hysterically; the House of _Lestrange_ going to a Squib who danced on the edge of being illegitimate? The young Lord bit back his snicker: once he’d settled down, he and Wordsworth had had quite a good talk; the latter had even called his friend in so Neville could meet an actual _Muggle_ Auror. Neville was just grateful the friend hadn’t seen his initial performance; he did _not_ want to be on Constable Lane’s bad side.

As the seats filled, Neville was relieved to see Harry arrive; his friend settled in the Potter seat as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but emerald eyes shone with anticipation. The Chief Warlock entered and took his seat, surveying the room before ordering, “Seal the doors!”

“Seal the doors!” the security Auror echoed; chatter died as the doors closed with an impressive _thud_.

“The May Session of the Wizengamot is called to order!” the Chief Warlock declared, his voice rising above the few remaining murmurs.

Neville’s eyes darted to the Wizengamot clerk, one Albert Dullard, as the man rose and announced, “First order of business is any alterations to the membership of the Wizengamot! Our magic has registered that the House of Lestrange has a new Head of House. Lord Lestrange will approach and take the oath.”

Lucius Malfoy’s dulcet tones rose in counter at once. “The only remaining Lestranges by blood sit in Azkaban; there cannot _possibly_ be a new Head of House.”

Neville rose to his feet, hardly containing his smirk. “Correction, on two points. Lord Malfoy,” he began, fixing the other lord with a Marauderish grin, “While it is true that the only _known_ Lestranges by blood sit in Azkaban, such does not preclude the possibility of _others_ who have the blood of the House of Lestrange. I have here Gringotts’ certification that the late Lord Lestrange sired a third, unknown son, who has now laid claim to his ancestral heritage.”

Neville presented the parchment with a flourish and turned his attention to Clerk Dullard. “My second correction is your announcement that the House of _Lestrange_ has a new Head of House; the name _Lestrange_ has been stricken from the House by the new Head of House and, henceforth, it should be referred to as the House of Wordsworth.” By this point, Neville’s smirk had stretched across his face and he was thoroughly enjoying the looks of horror on almost every member of the ‘Dark’ contingent. Harry looked as if he was having nearly as much fun himself, if the stifled chortling was any indication.

Malfoy’s indignation rang in every word. “The names of the Houses cannot be changed on a _whim_ ,” he sneered.

With a near angelic smile, Neville informed the Wizengamot, “Nor was it; Gringotts has further certified the _magical_ change of name from ‘Lestrange’ to ‘Wordsworth’ by Lord Wordsworth.”

Lord Malfoy’s face contorted in fury as Clerk Dullard summoned both documents and examined them carefully. After several tense moments, the clerk looked up. “The documents are accurate, Chief Warlock, and bear the seal of Gringotts; Gringotts confirms that there has been a magical change to the House of Lestrange’s name and that a new Head of House has been accepted by magic.”

The Chief Warlock frowned, but could not contest the goblin-certified parchments. “Very well,” he agreed at length, before sweeping his gaze up to Neville. “As you seem to be more informed than Clerk Dullard, perhaps you could explain why the new Head of the House of Wordsworth is not present, Lord Longbottom?”

Neville gave the Chief Warlock a solemn bow. “Lord Wordsworth has duties which preclude him from coming to Britain on a regular basis, Chief Warlock.” A final parchment was revealed. “He has authorized the House of Longbottom to speak on his House’s behalf.”

Instant uproar; Neville and Harry were hard put to keep from roaring in laughter as the various lords and ladies fought to make their opinions heard – Malfoy turned white as a sheet with the realization that he had just lost one of his surest votes. When the outcry had faded enough for him to be heard, Neville added, rather sardonically, “The Head of the House of Wordsworth anticipated that this would be highly…controversial. I look forward to informing him of the Wizengamot’s reaction to the news.” Beaming, the young Lord strode from his seat to the floor of the chamber; he ignored the appalled looks and glares from the Wizengamot and the audience. Once he had reached the floor, he strode to the center, standing opposite of the Chief Warlock and held up his wand for the oath.

At first the Chief Warlock regarded Neville with great disappointment, but, at length, he bowed to inevitable as Neville simply waited the older man out, wand upheld and one brow hiked. With a sigh, the Chief Warlock intoned, “I, Malcolm Davis, Chief Warlock, witness the calling of Neville Frank Longbottom to assume the role of proxy for the House of Wordsworth by law and by oath.”

“I, Neville Frank Longbottom, Head of the House of Longbottom, swear to act with honor and fairness in the name of justice, law, and magic, and accept the proxy of the House of Wordsworth by law and by oath. So have I sworn; so mote it be.”

If any final confirmation that Lord Wordsworth’s changing of his family name had taken hold was needed, it came in the shimmer of silver from a long empty seat on the chamber’s third tier. The seat of the House of Lestrange, now the House of Wordsworth, glowed as Neville finished his oath.

“I confirm your oath is valid, Lord Longbottom,” the Chief Warlock said quietly. “Please take your seat.”

Neville offered a brief bow, then turned and swept back to his seat; again he ignored the near uproar around him, only looking over at Harry, who nodded slowly in approval.

* * * * *

Neville was grateful for the fact that the House of Wordsworth’s notices would come near the end; it gave him time to review the parchment in his hand – Wordsworth’s decision of how to deal with his family’s actions towards Neville’s parents.

When Clerk Dullard announced, “The floor is ceded to Lord Longbottom as proxy for the House of Wordsworth,” Neville rose to his feet.

“My first notice is to formally register the change of name from the House of Lestrange to the House of Wordsworth.” Neville smirked at the renewed whispering.

“The name change is so noticed,” the Chief Warlock murmured.

“My second notice is to announce that the House of Wordsworth has declared Rastaban and Rudolphus Wordsworth oath-breakers for taking the Mark of Voldemort and attacking the House of Longbottom. Additionally, the House of Wordsworth has offered restitution and an apology to the House of Longbottom.” Neville paused long enough for the flurry of noise to die down, then continued, “As the Head of the House of Longbottom, I accept the restitution offered and the apology of the House of Wordsworth.”

The Chief Warlock considered Neville for several seconds, then acknowledged, “The notice of oath-breaking is so noticed.”

Once the two notices had been accepted, Neville sat, letting the chatter and further business of the Wizengamot wash over him. He knew that most of the Wizengamot would likely be wondering at why the two oath-breakers hadn’t been cast out, but he had no intention of enlightening them. Frankly, Neville was still rather curious as to how Lord Wordsworth had taken his position, but he doubted the man would ever tell him. The young Lord smirked as he pulled out a letter, written by Gringotts and signed by Lord Wordsworth, for the new Lord’s half-brothers. Now, how did he want to get the letter delivered…

* * * * *

In the wake of the Second War, Azkaban was no longer guarded by dementors, but the prison was still as miserable as ever. Two brothers, in cells that sat side-by-side, were receiving their first visitors in years. At first, they were most ungracious towards Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, until Lucius loudly announced, “Your House has been seized by an upstart, the name has been changed, and the two of you have been declared to be oath-breakers for being Death Eaters and attacking the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom.”

“ _What?_ ” Rudolphus howled in outrage. “Who dares take our House?”

Lucius sneered. “Your father, according to the documents certified by Gringotts and submitted to the Wizengamot by Neville Longbottom, had a _third_ son, who has claimed your House. The new Head of House Lestrange then magically changed the name of the House to _Wordsworth_ ,” Lucius spat the new name, “and selected Neville Longbottom as his proxy to the Wizengamot.”

Dead silence hung in the air; the two brothers stared at their former proxy holder in mute horror. Narcissa drew in a breath and pulled a sealed letter from her bag. “This is a letter written by Gringotts on the new Head’s behalf; do enjoy.” She dropped the letter through the bars and then the Malfoys swept out.

_“Rastaban and Rudolphus Wordsworth, formerly Lestrange,_

_You’ve never met me, but I’m your half-brother. Hope you enjoy the name change; I didn’t want anything to do with a family name that stands for nothing more than murder, torture, rape, and bigotry._

_From now on, this House stands for justice, honor, respect, and equality. Something you two won’t have to worry about, seeing as you’re in prison for life. Don’t expect any Christmas cards._

_Rot in Azkaban,_

_Lord Wordsworth, Head of the House of Wordsworth”_

Not a single one of the two men’s fellow prisoners or guards had any sympathy as the brothers raged and railed against their new Head of House. Only one figure had any interest whatsoever…Tash watched from a safe distance, considering the two brothers. For now, he dared not act, but, in the unlikely event that his _current_ gambit failed, he might yet have a use for the two former Lestranges.

 

_~ Fin_


End file.
